


I Have a Mouth But I Can't Scream

by IvanaeSilvia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fantasizing, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Rough Sex, Sex without feels, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvanaeSilvia/pseuds/IvanaeSilvia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker was not a passionate guy.<br/>When I tried to get him to play with me, he always refused rudely, glaring at me with eyes full of contempt and disgust.<br/>But now, even though it was violently, he was giving me the attention and intimacy I’d craved for seven years…he seemed finally to have noticed that we were created with physical bodies.<br/>That we are made of flesh, bones, skin and many, many indecent desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have a Mouth But I Can't Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, thanks again to the amazing @kavlover from tumblr for help me to fixed my horrible translation of this fanfiction XD You’re great!  
> The title is ispired by the horror novel “I have no Mouth, I must scream” btw.  
> This time I want to submit this piece that I did months ago.  
> PLEASE, LET ME KNOW WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS.  
> Enjoy the reading.

It was a night like many others.  
My puddin had gone to fight Batman and he had specified that he wanted to be alone during the attack on the bat. I was partly glad that I wouldn’t have to participate, but I still feared that my beloved might return severely hurt by that bat-monster.  
I munched on some almost outdated cheese chips (we can’t afford to waste them: we move from one hiding place to another and always take along some basic necessities ). The battered television illuminating the dark room was playing a boring program on corruption in the French Parliament, told through the eyes of a journalist with a yellow dress that made we want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon and a pair of glasses that seemed too big for her, giving her an awkward and uncertain age of perhaps thirty years. I often turn on the TV when I’m alone.  
I cannot stand the silence. And when there’s nobody with me, I have the constant feeling that some strange supernatural being is hiding in the corners, intent on devouring me in his huge jaws.  
By"supernatural being" I mean the madness. Hmm, I don’t think I’m getting through…  
I mean, I do distinguish good from evil.  
But I’m convinced that it’s all subjective.  
I mean, there are people who seem convinced that something is right or wrong according to the current morality-of-the-day.  
And if you ask them why it’s wrong?  
You’re sure they’ll say, “Just because it is!”  
No, I disagree and I’m proud of the fact.  
Because I have my own conception of what surrounds me, but I consider it a sort of law.  
I think everyone is free to think and believe what they want without being judged by the stifling voice of the jury.  
So…  
Ask me if killing a person is right or wrong, and I’ll answer that it depends on the circumstances. Don’t you agree? Okay, okay. I won’t give you a guilt trip.

Anyway, back to the boring night watching television and sitting on the bare mattress that I used for sleeping…I was busy getting rid of the golden crumbs that covored my bare thighs like fleas (damn my appetite!), when the wooden door behind me opened quickly enough to hit my back, the sudden breeze ruffling at the fabric of my thin t-shirt.  
I turned quickly, surprised by the rapid entry and the sudden change in temperature, observing Mr. J in the doorway with his face hidden by the darkness of the room.

“My darling!"I half-purred, half-exclaimed, smiling at the funny thought that if I was a dog my tail would be wagging, my body quivering for the return of my beloved. I rubbed the back of my hand against my lips in a frantic gesture to remove the traces of cheese from my face, standing up and shuddering inwardly as the awareness hit that the premature return of my puddin’ was not a good sign.  
I tried to hide my discomfort at my appearance–so scruffy and with no make-up—by smiling at him lovingly.  
I spread my arms as if I expected that he’d throw himself into them, but I knew he wouldn’t do that, so why did I feel l a sudden sharp pain in my chest?

"How’s it goin -…!”

I could not finish what I was saying. The last fateful letters died on my lips. My love had taken a step forward, and thanks to the generous light of the moon I could see his face, flooded with natural light.  
The delicate features and delicious white of his face were now painted with a gruesome red, as well as its pointed nose and his lips, a darker scarlet and very different from what he normally used to decorate his thin mouth.  
The vibrant green color of his shirt hidden largely by the orange vest was smeared with his blood, as well as the straps of his purple jacket, even hiding the black ribbon that he used to decorate his neck and the decorative sunflower pinned carefully on the side left of the vest.  
His face had no expression.

“M … Mr.J!” I exclaimed in horror, watching with wide eyes all that red spread over his immaculate features, clapping a hand over my mouth to hold back a cry of sorrow and contempt.  
Yes, of contempt for the Dark Knight. Damn him. I’d kill him with my bare hands for reducing my Joker to this.  
My stomach twisted till I felt the sour acid in the back of my throat but I held it down and touched my fingers to my face.

“What has he done to you ..?” It was a disbelieving whisper. My hands were shaking. I knew, I knew I should have gone with him, protected him! I felt so guilty and hated myself for what I’d unwittingly helped do.  
Suddenly I realized that the violet gloves he wore were clean, although slightly wrinkled and worn.  
The thought was still going through his mind when his left fist hit me with unexpected force in the face, so fiercely that I could feel the venom and hatred flowing through the gesture , almost knocking me down with its intensity. I ignored my throbbing cheek, too busy wondering at his furious gesture , trying to read his face through the impassibility in those green eyes that I loved so much.

“M … m … Mr.J, w-why…”  
“SHUT UP, YOU USELESS WASTE OF SPACE!”  
His cry, though not overly strong, stabbed my eardrums and heart like needles, incandescent and agonizing. My limbs froze with shock and suffering. The words, so sharp and painfully real–in the silence I could hear his fists shaking in a grip so intense I thought his knuckles might crack. I couldn’t see it, but it was obvious he was trembling.

But I didn’t know why. And I was afraid to find out.

In the background,the woman-child on television listlessly passed the line to her colleague in the studio, obviously impatient to go home.  
“You can’t do anything but whine, right?!” he growled , his voice dark and dirty, making me shiver with fear.  
His hands, incredibly strong for a man of his stature, struck me on the chest, knocking me onto the mattress. It was cool like the rest of the dimly-lit room. I gave a gasp of surprise but without giving me time to react, Joker was rolling me onto my stomach, pressing against my body and covering my mouth with his hand, the smooth fabric of his glove silky on my lips.  
“Damn you …” he whispered, his tone tinged with evil.  
He was smiling.  
I knew it, I felt it… I felt it.  
But he didn’t seem to be smiling at me.  
Or at the bald guy who was advertising some pointless product with a fake friendly smile on tv.  
Against my bottom,I felt the crotch of his pants press and I gulped when I realized that he had a very hard erection.  
I licked my lips and rubbed back against him, narrowing my eyes in ecstasy at the intimate contact.  
The Joker was not a passionate guy.  
When I tried to get him to play with me, he always refused rudely, glaring at me with eyes full of contempt and disgust.  
But now, even though it was violently, he was giving me the attention and intimacy I’d craved for seven years…he seemed finally to have noticed that we were created with physical bodies.  
That we are made of flesh, bones, skin and many, many indecent desires.  
My clown quickly unbuttoned his trousers, shoving down my panties with his free hand, very intent on keeping the other hand against my lips.  
I gasped into his hand, loving the sudden impulsiveness, as if he could not wait to do it and wanted me at all costs.  
I moved a little, still trembling with impatience against him, wanting to feel our bodies grinding together, feeling him release a shaky breath of desire that made my nether parts throb painfully.  
I was dimly aware of the muffled voices of the cheerful infomercial running through the background of our wordless dialogue of pants and groans.  
Finally, after what seemed like hours, Joker thrust himself into me, the wetness from the first surprised throb between my legs easing the glide of his cock.  
My eyes widened and then I closed them, moaning helplessly against his hand, desperately squirming with pleasure, trying to find some way to express my ecstasy.

“Oh … ngh, finally … it’s what I’ve always dreamed of …”

I couldn’t believe that it was the Joker’s voice that said it, his voice high and weak with pleasure while he panted, moving inside me with the force of a tsunami, freezing the blood in my veins with the delicious sensation.  
I smiled, moaning in response and rubbing against him, when suddenly my knees froze as if they had turned to stone. He was still talking. There was more.  
“God, how much I wanted you … Batman …”  
I couldn’t breathe.  
My breath caught in my throat like a fly in a spider’s web, my heart shaken by a surge so strong I was sure it had to have left a chasm in my chest. I stopped moving, stopped everything, helpless as if it had been a real heart attack.  
“Darling … ah, Bats …”

I didn’t want to hear it. Not any of it. Please, just stop! Oh god…  
I tried to concentrate on the happy voice of a child advertising custom backpacks (“You’re mine … all mine and mine alone… Batsy …”), tried desperately to regain contact with my body.  
My body continued to respond, mechanically, to the skillful movement of my lover’s hands and body, but my head was flooded with a vicious, cruel jealousy and I could feel it seeping into my heart.  
Some evil was eating me from within, burning me alive.  
It was the unbearable voice of Batman, that obnoxiously hoarse and masculine growl, that he wanted to hear.  
Not mine.  
My body, which would have turned the heads of so many men–and not a few women–had changed for him.  
What pressed against his chest was not a thin back but a large muscular one.  
Against his legs he had a pair of muscular thighs, not the soft, smooth ones I’d wrapped around him.  
He wasn’t penetrating a woman’s forbidden garden but the tight passage of his nemesis.  
I fought back the tears that threatened to invade my eyes and clenched my left hand on the bleak mattress until the knuckles turned white and I came, my orgasm as indifferent and emotionless as his.  
When he got up and dressed quietly, as if nothing had happened, I crumpled into myself like paper licked at by hungry flames, grateful for the vacuum he left.  
His eyes followed my figure for a moment, casually and then he disappeared, closing himself in the bathroom, meaning to compose himself and get rid of my feminine odor. I snorted at the idea that he probably would rather have worn that sweaty male smell, stinking of heat and the night, until it had consumed him.  
I felt cold as ever had in my life. It hurt. I wrapped my arms around my own shoulders.

“Darling!” he ’d said.  
Then: “Ah, Bats …”  
Finally I decided to allow my body to let off some of the steam boiling inside me. The first tears stung at the corners of my eyes, then burned hot and uncomfortable down my face. My mouth was shaking while I bit my lips in an effort to hold them, to not show my anguish.  
Finally I managed to breathe again (“God, how much I wanted you … Batman …”) and slowly rubbed my arms with icy hands, letting that the guy on television explain the importance of orthopedic beds with wood frames while I sank into a black hole of pain no bed would ever relieve. The merciless memory of his excited voice, ringing in my ears as he gasped for his enemy, throbbed relentlessly in head and I choked, weak sobs wringing my devastated body .  
Crying for the waste.  
For love that doesn’t know when to die.


End file.
